


Two Halves

by SingManyFaces



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Obikin Week 2019, Tattoos, accidental praise kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:55:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22045207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SingManyFaces/pseuds/SingManyFaces
Summary: Sometime after taking command of the Open Circle Fleet, Obi-wan and Anakin celebrate with matching tattoos.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 18
Kudos: 276





	Two Halves

**Author's Note:**

> A _very_ late offering for Obikin Week 2019, for the prompt “tattoos.”

Standing outside the small parlor, looking up at the neon sign that read _Twi’nk_ , Obi-Wan asked, “And you’re sure this is the place Jesse told you about?”

Gaze falling from the sign to the artwork displayed in the window, Anakin grinned as he tapped gently at the transparisteel. “Pretty sure.” Beneath his hand was a small poster with the emblem of the Open Circle fleet.

“ _Proudly serving the boys in blue_ ,” Obi-Wan read from the poster, huffing, “Well, that’s a little reductive.”

“Maybe more of my guys stop in,” Anakin shrugged. “Come on, we don’t want to be late.”

Inside, the owner and her partner—both twi’leks—were waiting seated in the cozy-looking foyer, surprise lighting the former’s face. “Oh? Not soldiers this time?”

Her partner giggled, elbowing her gently in her side. “I told you they didn’t sound like the boys do.”

“So you did,” she acknowledged, leaning briefly into the other woman before beckoning Obi-Wan and Anakin further into her foyer. “A pleasure to meet you, boys—please, sit.” She gestured invitingly to the over-stuffed couch opposite her own. “I’m Daesha,” nodding to her partner, “and this is Nima. Now, which of you is Lars, and which is Ben?”

Obi-Wan cast a glance at Anakin, quirking a small grin before indicating him, “ _Lars_.”

“Ben,” Anakin returned the favor, jerking his thumb toward Obi-Wan. 

Nima laughed softly, fingers absently tracing the dark pattern inked into her lek. “Forgive her—most of the business we see these days are those sweet boys when they get to come home, and especially so for the Open Circle. Are you fans of the 501st, then?”

Anakin snorted, grinning as he felt a flare of exasperation from his old master. “You could say that.”

“They’re certainly impressive,” Obi-Wan agreed, breathing in the muted scent of incense in the air before smiling pleasantly, “But I’m partial to the 212th, myself.”

“Oh, we’ve been seeing more of them lately!” Nima enthused, “I did an Open Circle for one just the other day, he came in with his blond friend.”

“Nerra,” Daesha reminded gently, “They prefer ‘brothers’.”

Looking faintly embarrassed, she breathed, “Yes, forgive me.”

“But yes,” turning her attention to her customers, Daesha brought the conversation back to them, “we were the first parlor on this level to offer the Open Circle, and it became popular from the start. So we’ve developed a fair number of variations, if you’d like to look?” Leaning forward, she powered on a datapad full of artwork and keyed it to the proper images before sliding it across the low table toward the men with a smile. “I’m sure you know how the boys like their variety.”

Together Obi-Wan and Anakin looked over the datapad. Inside, the Open Circle was depicted in numerous ways: composed of fine lines or dots instead of solid color, ringed in the color of specific regiments, as though painted with a calligraphy brush... “They’re all lovely,” Obi-Wan remarked after a time, “but I think I’ll keep to the standard.”

Anakin lingered for a moment over the design that looked like brushwork, the center of it reminiscent of binary suns, but ultimately said, “Same for me, I think.”

The artists smiled at them, uncurling themselves from the couch. “Well, then,” Daesha said, “let’s get started.”

They walked Obi-Wan and Anakin further into the shop, explaining the equipment they would use, and the process, as Obi-Wan rolled up his right sleeve and Anakin skinned out of his shirt. Daesha and Nima took turns carefully binding back each other’s lekku before pulling over stools. “You’re with me, Ben,” Nima told him, patting the padded chair next to her.

Daesha grinned up at Anakin, instructing, “On your belly.”

Attempting to hide his slight flush, Anakin balled up his shirt and put it under his head once he’d stretched out on the chair; from his angle he could see Nima putting on sanitary gloves while Obi-Wan sat in his own chair, and he could hear Daesha doing the same behind him. “Now, did you want it on the inside, or the outside of your forearm?” Nima asked Obi-Wan; then, confidentially, “I’m afraid it hurts a bit more on the inside.”

“That’s alright,” Obi-Wan assured, tapping just below the inside of his wrist, “This is where I’d like it.”

If there was more to the exchange after that Anakin missed it, distracted by Daesha’s hand on his arm. “It would be better to just let this hang,” she told him as she got a grip on his still-gloved arm and lifted, unprepared for the weight of it “—oh.” She moved on from her surprise without further comment as she carefully draped his arm over the side of the chair, making the front of his shoulder press more flatly to the padding. Resting her hand lightly on his shoulder blade she asked, “Do you think you can hold this position for an hour?”

He’d been in less comfortable positions for much longer. “Shouldn’t be a problem.”

A little pat, “Good boy.”

His skin was heating again, made worse when he noticed Obi-Wan smirking at him, and he pressed his face into his shirt. On his back, Daesha lifted her hand until just her fingertips were pressed to his skin, “I’m going to move now—tell me when I’ve hit the spot you want.” It didn’t take long, and she marked a quick outline of the design there. For a moment she left him; when she returned she was accompanied with a gentle mechanical hum. “I’m going to start with a small spot, so you’ll know what it feels like. Some people don’t realize until they’re actually in the chair that it’s too much for them, but,” he wasn’t sure if he imagined the slight hesitation in her words, but he could definitely hear her smile, “I think you can take it.”

The touch of the needle brought discomfort, of course, but...less than he’d have thought. A lot less. “You good?” Daesha checked in.

“Yeah, it’s...” He huffed a laugh, “different than I expected.”

Her voice was warm, pleased, “Then let’s get started.”

Once she began, the scratch of the needle was just that—a heated scratching that reminded him of sunburns he’d gotten when he was small, and trying to relieve the itching of the abused skin. The familiarity provided an odd sort of comfort as his awareness narrowed to the sensation, his eyes drifting closed as his body relaxed. “Still good?” Daesha asked, he wasn’t sure how much time later.

“Mm-hmm.” He hadn’t meant for the sound to come out quite so much like a purr. Opening his eyes again he found Obi-Wan with his head tilted back, hooded eyes fixed on the ceiling as Nima worked on his arm. “Hey, how about you?” he wondered aloud to the artist, “Is it uncomfortable with your lekku tied back like that?”

“Anakin...” Obi-Wan’s brow furrowed, his quiet voice reproachful.

“What?” Anakin countered, “You know they’re sensitive.”

The sound of soft, amused laughter came from both artists, though Daesha was the one to answer. “It’s not that bad. And its far better than startling a client I’m working on if one falls forward onto them,” she made him gasp as she lifted the needle to wipe away some excess ink, “That’s a lessen you only need to learn once.” Daesha paused again as Anakin gave a surprised giggle, waiting for him to settle before lowering the needle to his skin again.

“And really,” Nima added, winking, “it’s nothing compared to getting them inked.”

Dimly Anakin heard Daesha telling him she was switching colors; Nima had a much tighter hold on his attention. Eyes comically wide, “Was it bad?”

She rolled her eyes at herself, “More embarrassing.” As Anakin watched she prepared to switch colors as well; Obi-Wan took the opportunity to flex his fingers. “The first time Daesha got me under her needle I _fainted_.”

“Really?” Unable to contain himself, Anakin jolted up onto his elbow.

“Alright, rowdy boy,” Daesha cut in, slapping a hand onto his uninked shoulder and pushing him firmly down against the chair, “Time to be still again.”

“Sorry,” came the sheepish reply. Then, “Really?”

Obi-Wan shook his head at him, tutting, but Anakin could see the smile he was trying to hide. “Really,” Nima confirmed, “It’s...actually fairly common, but you always think you’re going to be the exception, you know?”

“That cute little togruta you worked on a few weeks back did okay, didn’t she?” Daesha interjected.

The other woman stilled briefly in her work as she remembered the client. “Oh, she was a champion!” She admired. “Just closed her eyes and zoned right out,” huffing a laugh, “I actually thought she might’ve been sleeping at one point. I was proud of her.”

“Was it a big design?” Anakin asked.

Nima gave her head a little shake. “Another Open Circle, like you two. But on the underside of her lek.” Dabbing up some excess ink from Obi-Wan’s wrist, she added, “Just like with this one’s arm, that’s even more painful.”

Catching Anakin’s gaze, Obi-Wan raised a brow in an expression that clearly asked, _‘Do you think...?’_

Anakin nearly went up on his elbows again but caught himself in time, emphatically mouthing back, ‘ _Yes!_ ’ His mind swam with surprise and curiosity—enough to keep him distracted until Daesha tapped his side. “Hm?”

“I _said_ ,” Daesha sounded amused again, “Look in that mirror in front of you so you can see the finished work.”

Doing as instructed, Anakin turned his head to find a full-length mirror mounted to the wall behind his chair. Reflected there he saw Daesha standing over him with a smaller mirror in her hands, angled so that he could see his newly completed tattoo. “Wizard,” he breathed reverently, eyes going wide again, “I love it.”

She patted his shoulder warmly as she set aside the smaller mirror. “Always happy to hear.”

“Are you alright? I haven’t seen you like this since,” caught between laughter and concern, Obi-Wan phrased his thoughts more delicately, “that time with Hondo.”

“Probably just an endorphin rush,” Daesha shrugged as she smoothed a bacta patch over the fresh tattoo, “It’s like that for some people.” She waited for Anakin to sit up before turning his face toward her with a hand on his chin. “Alright, tipsy boy,” she instructed firmly, “You’re going to leave that on for the next 24 standard hours, then change it for a fresh bacta patch until it finishes healing—should only be a few days. Understand?”

He nodded mutely, feeling heat rising under his skin again. Obi-Wan’s warm, knowing chuckle behind him did not help.

But Daesha smiled, pressing another sealed bacta patch into his hand. “Good boy.” Then, thinking on it a minute, “Though you may need some help with that, given the position.”

“He’ll have it,” Obi-Wan chimed in, appearing at Anakin’s side as he carefully pulled on his shirt again. Once the garment was settled, Obi-Wan held out a hand. “And _I’ll_ have the keys to the speeder.”

Anakin’s eyes narrowed in surprise; he listed to the side until Obi-Wan steadied him, “But you hate flying.”

“I hate crashing more,” he grinned, raising a brow. Anakin rolled his eyes but fished the keys out of his pocket anyway, handling them over. “Good boy,” Obi-Wan murmured, playful, and received a swat for his trouble.

They paid their credits and thanks before leaving the parlor and making their way back to the speeder, Obi-Wan sticking close to keep Anakin from tilting over again. The air currents, once they started back to the temple, were refreshing on Anakin’s face and for the first few moments he closed his eyes to better enjoy the feel of it. With a sigh he shifted onto his hip, laid his cheek against the headrest before looking at Obi-Wan. He never could understand the other man’s aversion to flying; he always looked so at ease at the controls. “Hey,” he asked, voice sounding a touch drowsy, “Think we should ask Snips about the tattoo?”

Obi-Wan flicked a quick glance to Anakin. “Oh, I don’t know. She hasn’t told us herself and the placement she chose, if it _was_ her...” his tone said that he had no question that it was, “We should probably wait for her to come to us.”

“Mm.” It wasn’t a particularly satisfying answer, but Anakin could see the logic to it. “Hey,” he asked suddenly, “You like how it turned out, right? Yours, I mean.” He shifted again, craning his neck to look toward Obi-Wan’s wrist. “I, uh,” he huffed a laugh at himself, “I didn’t see yours earlier.”

That grin again and Obi-Wan removed his right hand from the yoke, held his arm out to Anakin. The sweet scent of the bacta wafted briefly into his face once he’d worked back the older man’s sleeve, and he ran his fingers reverently around the outline of the new ink, so stark against the paleness of Obi-Wan’s skin. Speaking of placement... ”I never asked,” he spoke just loudly enough to be heard over the wind, “why you chose here.”

Obi-Wan’s fingers twitched, like he wanted to run his thumb over his eyebrow. As always, though, it was easier to speak his feelings when it was just the two of them. “Because leading the fleet with you—it’s like having another of myself.” He shifted his gaze from the traffic to settle it on the younger man, a little longer this time. “You’re a part of me, Anakin. One I depend on.”

He opened his mouth to say something but no words came; instead, he slipped a hand into Obi-Wan’s and held.

A soft smile curved Obi-Wan’s mouth before he cleared his throat. “Yes, well,” he returned, “And yours? Why did you choose the place you did?”

The answer came without hesitation. “Because I know you have my back,” he answered simply, his smile unreserved, “and you always will.”

Obi-Wan’s hand tightened around his as he swung the speeder into the last turn-lane they needed, his voice as warm as his hand. “Right you are.”

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to the friend who gave me advice during my writing, and thanks so much for reading! You can find me on tumblr @singmanyfaces if you want to drop by. :D


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